


violent sweet perfect

by keenquing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keenquing/pseuds/keenquing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The woman turning him towards the counter and hooking her leg about his waist may not be the one who loves him regardless of all his dark deeds, but he'd be worse than a hypocrite if he rejected her for hers."</p>
            </blockquote>





	violent sweet perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for queuingtocomplain's Rumbelle Secret Santa 2013 prompt, "Charming finds her waiting. They really don't like Lacey."

 “You're late.”

Those are Lacey's first words when Gold enters the shop, finding her perched on the counter with her all-but naked legs swinging back and forth and a half-drained glass in her hand that he's sure isn't her first if the bottle at her side is in any indication. He raises an eyebrow, mouth quirked in a wry smile.

“And hello to you too, Dearie.” He crosses over to her, trying not to get too distracted by the way the hem of her little leather skirt keeps rising and falling with the motions of her legs. “If I recall correctly, you asked for the key to my shop just in case of emergencies.”

“I'm pretty sure freezing my arse off waiting for you and getting the stinkeye from your friends at the same time counts as an emergency,” she snaps back, draining her glass and reaching for the bottle again before he takes her wrist—gentle, but insistent at the same time.

“And what 'friends' might these be?” he chooses to tackle that instead of her first statement, because he knows that telling her that perhaps she wouldn't freeze if she bothered to wear something a little more suitable for a Maine winter once in awhile will only end in her making some comment about encouraging him to come warm her up (not that he'd be at all adverse to the idea, but that's neither here nor there at the moment).

Lacey glares at him, but pulls her hand away from the whiskey, setting down her glass and hopping off the counter with a sigh. “David and his wife. They were going to get coffee or whatever boring vanilla rubbish people like them do on a Saturday night and saw me waiting outside.”

Gold frowns, able to imaging far too easily the looks Snow and her husband might have given Lacey—they hadn't _known_ Belle, not long enough to know just how far removed the woman in her skin now was from who she'd been before. Even if they understood how the curse warped a person's heart, they might have believed the cursing or general disregard for most people was the small grain of _Belle_ that shone through.

He grips his cane tightly for a moment, fighting the desire to go find the two of them and at least beat some sense into that hopeless prince. He's sure Lacey would enjoy the sight, would likely reward him quite well for it, but--

“And what,” he grits out, smiling that wolfish smile that Lacey enjoys so much, though it would have prompted Belle to put her fingers in his hair and croon soft nonsense in his ear, “did they say?”

Lacey shrugs, walking around him to dance her fingers along a collection of very delicate and _extremely_ expensive glassware. “I didn't actually hear them, but their faces said enough. What everyone says about me. That I'm--” he can tell she's thinking of several choice words that he'd rip out any man's tongue for repeating in her hearing, when she looks up and gives him a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Trashy.”

He lets out a tense breath, fingers flexing on his cane again as he watches her face. Lacey might have giggled like a school girl when he told her all the horrible _dark_ things he could do with his magic several nights ago when she'd convinced him to 'let go' and split her bottle of Cuervo, blasts music that he's sure will make his eardrums rupture one day, and only reads magazines full of leather clad men on motorcycles, but for all of that her heart is still _Belle's._ A heart that, for all her bravado and defiance in both her lives, he knows to be just as delicate as it is large.

Clearing his throat awkwardly to try and uncoil the rage that is building inside him at the idea of anyone, especially Charming and his bride, insulting the woman he loves (or at least, a woman who looks and sounds and moves like her), Gold forces himself to smile back at her. “Should I be concerned that I will have the sheriff knocking at my door reporting some rather creative act of vandalism later this evening, then?”

That makes her laugh, a real honest laugh that sounds so much like Belle he almost draws away when she starts to bridge the space between them, not wanting to break the momentary illusion that she's _back_. “No. I've had to put up with judgmental prick like them my entire life. Starting with Dad,” she rolls her eyes, and if she were _herself_ he'd almost be proud of the fact she's so dismissive of her wretched excuse of a father. If _any_ part of Lacey lingers when he finally breaks this damned curse, he hopes it's that. “I wouldn't want to give them the sanctification of thinking I give a damn about what they think by doing something so fucking uncreative.”

It's Gold's turn to laugh this time, though it's hardly as warm as hers, because that—discussing the _creativity_ of her hypothetical revenge—is so close yet so painfully far from something Belle might say, and he almost wishes Charming and Snow could see her like this, that even if she's not muttering obscenities in Greek or sweetly pondering the fact that she's _sure_ Snow has a book that's two weeks overdue, she's still quietly brilliant in her own twisted way.

“It was just the cold that drove you inside, then?” he says, quietly, drawing a hand to her spray-stiffened hair before he can even think to stop himself. He almost sighs with relief when Lacey doesn't draw back, although his breath is quickly sucked back in when her fingers begin trailing up his tie and take hold of his lapels.

“No,” she murmurs, leaning in so her mouth is right beneath his ear. “I wanted to show them there's only one person in this town who's opinion I give a single fuck about.”

Her sudden proximity and the words that are _so close_ to something his Belle might have said force him to bite his tongue so he doesn't do something foolish like calling her _sweetheart_ (or even worse the name that would make her spurn him in favor of a certain Mister Walker for the night) or give into the shred of hope that her statement means his kiss might work this time.

Somewhat-thankfully, Lacey smothers all those impulses by brushing his hair back and whispering in a sweet, dark tone that is _nothing_ like Belle, “And that if they actually ever get up the balls to say what they're thinking to the face, they might find themselves turned into cockroaches.”

Gold doesn't have the time to think of some witty quip about protecting his lady's honor or even breathe before her lips on his, hands digging into his hair hard enough to be painful, and he can't truly say he minds. The woman turning him towards the counter and hooking her leg about his waist may not be the one who loves him regardless of all his dark deeds, but he'd be worse than a hypocrite if he rejected her for hers. He might not be able to give her _love_ , not the way he wishes he could, but he'll gladly give her a warm shelter from the cold judgment of the people of Storybrooke.


End file.
